“I can hardly wait,” he heard her mutter beneath her breath as he headed out of the room.
Paige didn’t need whatever “official business” he was here to disclose, not when she was desperately trying to get her life back on track. Not when she was so close to making decisions that affected her future. The last thing she needed was more emotional turmoil clouding her judgment.
And a deep, gut instinct warned her that the investigation on Anthony’s death had been concluded, and that was the reason for Josh’s formal visit.
Yeah, well, over the passing three months she’d had a change of heart. Her initial anger over the situation had eased, and she’d managed to bury her resentment of the undercover work her husband had thrived on. Anthony was gone, and nothing anyone could say or do could turn back the dock. Did she really want to know the gory details of why there wasn’t enough left of Anthony after the fatal explosion to justify a casket?
No, she didn’t.
She’d come to terms with his death, and the choices he’d made, despite the heartache it had cost her. Now, all she wanted was to put this chapter of her life behind her, and begin anew.
Rubbing the slow throb beginning at her temple, Paige forced herself to regain her composure. It wasn’t easy, considering the negative vibes Josh had brought with him today. His tension had been nearly palpable, touching off emotions that made her feel uncomfortably vulnerable.
She knew Josh well, in some ways better than she’d known her own husband. She’d learned to gauge his moods, valued his openness and appreciated his honesty, elements her relationship with Anthony had lacked. During the past year she’d spent more time with Josh than she had with Anthony. Josh didn’t realize it, but his friendship and companionship had kept her sane during a very turbulent and emotionally draining marriage.
Anthony hadn’t turned out to be the man he’d presented during their whirlwind, three-month courtship. Kindness, tenderness and consideration, the very traits she’d fallen in love with, had waned just months after the wedding. The dreams she’d harbored since she was a little girl had diminished within a year, yet she’d always held on to a small glimmer of hope that things would change…that Anthony would realize just how rich and wonderful having a family could be. That there was more to life than the next exciting undercover case.
A burst of derisive laughter escaped her. She’d been kidding herself. Anthony had been too egotistical to stretch beyond his own wants and needs, and too arrogant and possessive to let her go when there was no incentive for her to remain in a loveless marriage.
Lightning flashed through the glass slider leading to the deck, and thunder rumbled in the distance, startling her back to the present. Shaking off her unsettling thoughts, she sat on the couch and began clearing the coffee table and putting files back into her briefcase. She would review her paperwork later, after Mr. Inquisitive left.
Picking up her glass of wine, she debated on a refill, then decided that Josh could probably use a cup of coffee, and since she’d be making a pot, she might as well join him. Padding into the kitchen, she filled the carafe with water, then scooped French Vanilla coffee into the basket. While the coffee percolated, she washed the few dinner dishes she’d left in the sink. Once that was done, she found herself staring out the kitchen window to the darkness beyond, trying to think of the best way to tell Josh she no longer had a burning desire to know the details of Anthony’s death. That she preferred to remember the few good memories she had of Anthony.
“Ummm. Coffee smells great.”
Paige turned at the sound of Josh’s deep, rumbling voice, the offer to pour him a cup dying on her lips before it even formed. Her heart did a funny little leap in her chest as he walked toward her, wearing a smile and the sweatpants she’d given him. Nothing else. His chest was bare, its width tightly muscled and sprinkled with a dusting of dark curls that still looked damp from his shower. The trail tapered down a flat, lean belly, whorled around his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his drawstring sweats.
Heat suffused her entire body, a sensual, feminine kind of awareness that made her skin tingle. Her reaction shocked her-she’d seen Josh without a shirt plenty of times, and never had she experienced this deep, coiling need in the pit of her belly. In the summer, he would often come over, lounge around on the beach and swim in the ocean, wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming trunks. But there was something incredibly intimate and sexy about seeing him after a shower, his skin still flushed from the heat of the water, his black hair a silky tumble around his head. The dark stubble lining his jaw intensified the fascinating, rich shade of those brown-gold eyes that at times seemed to mesmerize her.
Like now.
She swallowed, hard. There’d always been a certain attraction between the two of them; she’d be a hypocrite to deny the underlying magnetism to their friendship. But she’d
Josh had been nothing more than a friend, someone to talk to when she needed to vent, a person who understood her better than her husband because Josh took the time to listen. A companion when Anthony chose work, and even more often play, over the plans she’d made for them.
He’d always been a platonic friend.
Circumstances had changed, and she realized her feelings for him now had intensified-both physically and emotionally. The realization scared the hell out of her. The mere idea of investing emotions in another relationship strained by the pressures, dangers, and stress of working in law enforcement terrified her.
“Where’s the sweatshirt?” she blurted, wanting to do something about the more immediate hazard to her senses.
“It’s too small, and I can barely fit it over my head,” he said, absently rubbing a hand over that bare chest of his. “The sweatpants aren’t quite my size, either, but they’ll do.”
Her traitorous gaze slid downward, past the waistband of his sweats this time. The soft cotton clinging to his lean hips, muscular thighs, and more masculine anatomy confirmed his claim. The hems of the sweats ended at his shins. Anthony had been shorter than Josh by a few inches, and not nearly so wide across the chest and shoulders.
“I’ll go see if I can find a larger shirt that might fit,” she said, and started around him.
He caught her arm, gently. The heat of his fingers seeped through the knit of her sweater, tripping old, familiar sensations her body had been denied for too long. She struggled to ignore the physical response, the ache and need that tightened her chest.
“Paige, I’m fine, really.” He looked at her oddly, making her realize how extreme her behavior had become. How ridiculous she was being. “The shower took away the chill, and the living room is warm enough. This will do until my clothes are dry.”
She forced a bright, everything-is-okay smile. “I’ll go put them in the dryer.” The sooner he was fully clothed, the better.
“I already did it,” he told her, and released her arm.
“Oh.” Her voice reflected her surprise. “I would have done it for you.”
He chucked her gently beneath the chin, a fond gesture he’d used many times in the past. It brought her back to familiar territory. Friends.
“I know you would have, but I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.” His grin was all Marchiano charm. “Being a bachelor has some merits, one of which is learning to do your own laundry.”
Anthony had never learned that particular skill. She doubted he even knew how to operate the fancy, digital washing machine in the laundry room. Before he’d married her, he’d had a housekeeper who’d taken care of washing the day-to-day essentials, and a drycleaning service that picked up and delivered other items needing more care.
“Would you like some soup and fresh sourdough bread?” she asked, grabbing at the most logical way to stall the inevitable.
He shook his head, his expression taking a serious turn. “Maybe later.”
